After the Mykki Blanco show (2 mosh pits, broken cinder blocks, honey) People wondered about an after party. “My house” I said. “I don’t want to go to any 15-person straight-person soiree” Mykki responded.
There were 50 some people. A DJ showed up. Fonzi and I complained about the burning-man style music and I asked the DJ to play something “less chill.” Kitty Crimes, Mykki and I huddled in Noah’s room.
Benji and I did an impromptu Party Girl performance. I kept being surprised by new guests, but enjoyed having them around. Peace and love.
Mykki Blanco is so smart, such a good conversationalist. We talked about upcoming plans with a little intersectional feminism thrown in as I chauffeured hotel-ward at 2am.
The party was still dying down when I went to bed at 4am. When I got up the next morning the whole house was clean.
I was disappointed to find that all the relics from my childhood, which I had thoughtfully sorted and let go of ages ago, had reappeared. It was a heavy feeling, modulated only by the bittersweet memories attached to a collection of gelato spoons amassed over a summer with my (now dead) first love.
A music book stood out in the pile of discarded and homeless items. An illustration of a pig accompanied a wild post-bop jazz piece. I mentioned to my dad that it was a wonderful song and he said he couldn’t read music.
Mykki Blanco was sitting in our living room after a show and before a party, talking about feeding apples to pigs in Germany for a music video. I jumped up and said “Oh! Pigs love apples!” I know this because in the mess of old stuff a piglet appeared, eating what looked like a very juicy apple. It shook its head around playfully, looking me in the eye.
Beyond the pile of things was the shore of some spirit realm where we would have a family dinner with our deceased loved ones. Pork was on the menu and I wondered if it would be served with an apple in its mouth.